Time Between Us Read Online Free PDF Page A

forehead and heads for the door. “It’s supposed to start snowing soon,” he says, zipping his parka and wrapping his scarf around his neck. “Give me a call if you want a ride home, okay?”
    “It’s only three blocks, Dad.”
    “And I know you’re fearless and indestructible, but call me if you change your mind, okay?”
    I roll my eyes. “Dad. Three blocks.”
    He’s just about to push the glass door open when I realize that tomorrow morning’s walk will be much longer. And colder.
    “Hey, Dad.” He turns around, one hand resting on the metal bar of the glass door. “I’ll take a ride to school in the morning…if that’s okay?”
    “Oh. Does Emma have a doctor’s appointment or something?”
    “No.”
    He looks like he’s about to ask me what’s going on, but he must decide against it, because he just shrugs and says, “Sure,” and the little bells jingle behind him.

“What am I doing?” I ask out loud as I add a second layer of lip gloss. Staring into the girls’ bathroom mirror, I apply a coat of mascara, then roll my eyes at my reflection.
    So he’s cute. That hardly makes him worth the considerable effort it took me to decide on lip gloss this morning. I’m not a makeup-in-the-bathroom kind of girl, and I feel like I’ve lost it completely. Yesterday, I thought I was crazy because I was seeing things. I think I prefer that crazy over this one.
    As I leave the bathroom and head to fourth period, I start to feel it—the adrenaline rush that I usually associate with the last half mile of a race. I stop outside the classroom for a moment to catch my breath and remind myself to enter the way I planned—looking cool and disinterested. I shake out my arms, rock my head back and forth, and take one last breath before I walk through the door.
    I spot Bennett right away. He’s reclining in his chair, twisting his pencil back and forth between his fingers. I expect him to look away when we make eye contact, but he doesn’t. In fact, his face seems to brighten, like he’s happy to see me or something. Then he looks down, still smiling to himself, and starts doodling. He doesn’t look up again.
    I take my seat and let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. For something to do, I start extracting my homework from my backpack while everyone else ambles in.
    When the bells rings, Argotta throws his arms high in the air and shouts, “Pop quiz!” Thankfully, the chorus of collective groans and the noise of paper being ripped from notebooks drowns out the sound of my heart pounding against my rib cage.
    My palms are sweating, and I’m pretty sure the heat from my body alone is about to make my curls frizz up. Without thinking, I sweep my hair back, gather it into a ponytail, twist it around my finger, and hold it in place at the top of my head with one hand while I search through my backpack for a clip. I feel books, a collection of gum wrappers, a roll of Certs, a jewel case, but no clip, no hair band. I look over at the pencil on my desk, which always works in a bind, but I have only one and I need it for the test. My elevated arm is falling asleep and I’m just about to give up when I hear a noise behind me.
    “Pssst.”
    I whirl around, still holding a handful of hair.
    Maybe it’s because he’s leaning so far forward he’s practically lying on top of his desk, but he seems so much closer to me right now than he did yesterday. Or perhaps it’s not only his physical proximity; it’s also the combination of the distance and the expression on his face. His eyes aren’t vacant like they were when I stared him down in class yesterday, or confused like they were when my best friend accused him of being a creepy stalker. Today his eyes are soft, like they’re smiling completely on their own, and I notice that they’re an interesting shade of smoky blue, dotted with little gold flecks that catch and reflect the light. When I finally realize what I am doing—staring into his eyes